Danica Winters - Smoke And Ashes

“What happened?” He motioned for her to come inside.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know where to go. Brittany wasn’t answering.”

“Come on in.” He stepped aside. He would have asked her what was wrong, but after what he had seen at the barbecue there was no point.

She stumbled to the couch and sat with her feet curled beneath her. “Thank you.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No. I just put the kids to bed.” He pointed at her shirt. “You want something clean to wear?”

She looked down and her mouth dropped open. “Oh, my God... Those damn margaritas.”

“Be right back.” He went to his bedroom and came back with a shirt. “Here, you can have this.” He handed it to her and turned his back as she slipped off her V-neck. In the mirror by the door, he caught a glimpse of her naked breasts. He stiffened as he looked away. No matter how much he wanted to look at her, to take those puckered pink nipples into his mouth and make them his, she belonged to someone else.

“I’m done,” she said. “Thanks for the shirt.”

He turned but didn’t know where to go, so he just stood there. “You’re welcome.”

Normally around women he was cool and collected. Yet with Heather, it was different. She was different. And no matter how badly he tried to break into work mode, treating her as though she was just another victim, he couldn’t. He didn’t feel right taking her by the hand and telling her it would all be okay. If he touched her, he might not be able to let her go.

“You want something to drink?” He moved toward the kitchen.

She stared into space. “David wants a divorce. He has the papers ready. I don’t know what to do.”

“What?” Kevin stopped and turned to her.

“Don’t make me say it again. It doesn’t feel real. None of this feels real.”

“I get it.” He felt like a moron, but he couldn’t think of the right thing to say.

In a way, he’d been in her shoes when he had found out about Allison’s death. A part of him had died in that moment. No matter how many times people said “I’m sorry,” nothing could staunch the pain.

“I never thought this day would come. I mean...we’ve been unhappy. I thought maybe, but...I thought we’d make it through this. I should have seen this coming.”

“When you love someone, sometimes you don’t see what’s staring back at you.”

“What do you mean?”

He thought back to David hitting on Brittany at the barbecue. If Heather hadn’t seen it, he was the last person who should tell her.

“Nothing. I just mean—”

“You think he doesn’t love me?”

“I didn’t say that,” he said, mentally trying to backpedal.

“It’s okay. I know he doesn’t. It’s been a long time since...well, since I think he felt something other than contempt toward me. A divorce seems like the only answer.”

“Is that what you want—a divorce?” The question came from a place inside him where he begged that she would say yes.

She didn’t answer. Rather, she looked broken, as though she was a pane of glass that had been waiting for the strike of a hammer, and now that the blow had been struck, she’d come to him to help find the pieces.

He saved lives, but he’d never been good at rebuilding them—not even when the life was his own. He tried hard, but despite his efforts, Colter was a mess and he didn’t spend nearly enough time with Lindsay. Everything he did was a struggle. Every choice was wrong or surrounded by guilt. He could never give Heather what she needed.

She wiped the tears from her eyes as she stood up and moved to him, her hips swaying with purpose.

What was she doing? She’d never looked at him like that before, with such intensity. If anything, she’d been overly insistent that they were friends...good friends, but that had been all. But that look, that light in her dark eyes, said there was something more—something he’d felt since the first moment he’d met her.

He must have been reading her wrong. He stepped back until he bumped into the table beside the door. “Heather...”

She put her finger on his lips, quieting him. Rising to her tiptoes, she swept her tear-dampened lips over the skin of his neck. Sparks of electricity shot down his body and reawakened a part of him that he had written off.

“What’re you doing?” he tried to say, but it came out barely above a whisper thanks to the soft pressure of her finger against his lips.

She slipped his earlobe into her mouth and sucked.

Oh, God... He wanted this. He wanted her.

He wanted to sweep her up in his arms and carry her to his bed. He wanted to wake up covered in her scent, to lick her flavor off his lips. Her kiss moved lower. Her tongue traced the neckline of his shirt. Her hands moved up his chest.

“Heather...” he moaned. “I want you...”

Before he could say another word, her lips met his. She tasted sweet, like warm berries right off the vine. How could a woman taste so good?

He wrapped his arms around her as he relished their kiss. He could do this forever...hold her forever...be with her forever.

The scent of sweetened alcohol wafted from her. Kevin pulled back. Those lips, those pink, full lips weren’t berry flavored—they tasted of margarita.

If she had been sober and come to him willingly and openly, it would have been hard for him to say no, but as it was, with her judgment skewed and muted by booze, there was only one choice.

“Heather...” He unwrapped his arms from around her body. “We can’t do this. You can sleep here. You can have my bed. But tonight... This can’t happen.”

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